CHAPTER ONE

Lauran studied her appearance in the full-length mirror. There was a mysterious, untamed quality about her that was fresh and mesmerizing. Maybe it was her wild, free-flowing mane or how her exotic features were now played up instead of down. While no one would put their finger on exactly what was different about her appearance, she knew. The subtle changes her stylist had made for her newest ad campaign emphasized her Kazakh heritage instead of hiding it. Not that she’d ever done that deliberately. She was proud of her great-grandmother. Truthfully, she’d never resembled Tati more, and she was stunning.

Shaking her waves, Lauran decided she liked this new look. She hoped her husband did as well. Trey only knew her as a savvy, professional businesswoman. He’d never met the creative side of her personality. Not really. Her fantasy ad campaigns didn’t count.

However, it was time he did, and she thought he’d appreciate the differences. Twirling in front of the mirror, Lauran decided there was something liberating about the daring black halter dress that skimmed her curves and displayed her back and legs to their best advantage. The bright, scarlet-tipped toes peeping out of the strappy gold sandals were racy for her, as was the matching lipstick that emphasized the lush curve of her lips. Laughing softly, she knew she'd never looked better. Not even on her wedding day. Turning from the mirror, she grabbed her pleated black clutch and headed for the den.

“Wow.” Trey whistled softly. “Who are you and where did you come from?” He kissed her temple as he marveled at the transformation. While his wife was normally a vision of understated beauty, the creature twirling before him was magnificent. “Kelsey outdid herself.” His eyes swept over her from head to toe. “I’m one lucky man.”

“I’m the lucky one.” Her saucy look conveyed she wasn’t the only looker in the family. “Just think, if you weren’t lost that day, we never would have met.”

She fondly recalled the best day of her life when a handsome blonde businessman entered her shop looking for directions and left with an insanely expensive ring from her luxury estate collection. While the sale was easy, the time she spent with her guest was easier. They’d continued their easy banter on a date later that night without realizing faulty GPS directions had altered the course of their lives.

“We still wouldn’t be together if your associate hadn’t been held up at her doctor’s appointment.” Trey casually rubbed her ring finger. “You would have been hiding in the back, creating your next masterpiece instead of being out front to meet me.”

He was right. She never manned the sales floor unless someone called out. Her time was better spent working on commissions and new displays. While she sold high-end commercial pieces and luxury estate jewelry, her big-ticket items were the unique Lauran Lancaster Originals she created in her backroom studio.

“No, I wouldn’t have.” She agreed. “But I’m glad I was.”

Somehow, circumstances lined up just right for the impossible to become possible, and she’d met the love of her life.

“So am I.” He’d known she was the one the moment they met. “I’m even happier you agreed to meet me that night.”

They’d had dinner at her favorite low-country restaurant and hit it off immediately. As strong as the attraction was, they hadn’t acted on it. There were too many complications to work through first, and neither wanted a casual hookup. Instead, they’d addressed the elephant in the room and discussed the situation, eventually deciding a long-distance relationship was worth the risk.

Somehow, they’d made it work with nightly phone calls and weekend visits. When Trey casually proposed in front of the Miniatures Collection at the Gibbes Museum of Art, six months to the day they’d met, Lauran accepted. She’d smiled softly as he slid the exquisite Edwardian ruby and diamond ring he’d purchased from her shop on her finger. He had no way of knowing that he’d bought the one ring she’d almost kept for herself. Although it wasn’t easy to arrange so fast, they’d had an elaborate society wedding at her grandfather’s Lancashire estate before the year was out. Two years later, she was still deliriously happy. From the look in his eyes, Trey felt the same.

“So am I.” Lauran caressed the hand that was draping her coat around her shoulders. “I guess we need to get a move on.”

“We’ll lose our reservation if we don’t.” Trey smiled at her reluctance to leave. “Somehow, I don’t think you’d like that either.”

They’d booked their table at the trendy new eatery as soon as the restaurant opened.

“I wouldn’t.” Lauran headed for the door. “We’ll wait another month to get in if we do.”

“Yes, we will.” Trey locked the door behind them. “Added to that, it would be a shame to miss the celebration, don’t you think?”

As much as they wanted to stay home, they needed to mingle. See and be seen. They’d have the whole weekend to get reacquainted before Trey flew back to New York for a couple of weeks. Between his architectural contracts and her growing number of commissions, they were quickly becoming a local power couple. However, that meant they were spending more time apart. Again, while neither of them liked that, it was a small price to pay for success.

“I do.” Lauran reluctantly slid into the car, torn between her hormones and schmoozing.

They’d just spent the past eight weeks on different continents. While she’d enjoyed catching up with family and friends around work, she’d missed the quiet domesticity of home. From his calls, Trey felt the same. However, he’d been in Seattle wrapping up a lucrative architectural contract for his firm while she’d been in France completing her newest ad campaign before swinging by the UK on the way home to visit relatives.

“Besides, it’s too late to cancel that reservation.” She’d never dream of doing that to another business without just cause. “And it is our second anniversary.”

“Yes, it is.” Trey backed Lauran’s car out of the garage, silently ticking off all the reasons he preferred his Italian sports car to the luxury sedan he was presently driving.

Number one, his car was sleek, sexy, and ridiculously expensive. Number two, it was a birthday gift from his wife. Number three, he looked sharp, sliding out of that car with said wife on his arm. Number four, his baby was a chick magnet. Not that he acted on that interest. He wasn’t that stupid. Not yet.

However, he appreciated the attention. What man wouldn’t? But adoration aside, he couldn’t drive a car with a flat tire. So, he was driving Lauran’s overpriced German sedan instead. Sniffing at this latest turn of events, Trey decided the nicest thing he could say about the vehicle was that it handled like a dream. That and it was the perfect high-end work vehicle to meet all of Lauran’s needs.

“I’ve heard this is the best restaurant in town.” Glancing in his wife’s direction, he decided she was even prettier than when they left the house, if that was possible.

“Right.” Lauran snorted. “Charleston is full of great restaurants, so that’s a hard title to defend.”

“We’ll know in a few minutes.” Trey laughed softly at her comment. “I called Jerry about the tire while you were getting ready. He’ll send a truck out tomorrow around three.”

“Sounds good.” Lauran nodded. “You probably picked up a nail driving around that construction site downtown.”

While his projects were usually on the West Coast, Trey had kept his eye on a local site for a couple of weeks while a business associate wrapped up an assignment in L.A. Brad had returned to Charleston just as her husband was leaving for Seattle. They had passed each other at the airport.

“Probably.” Trey agreed. “If I did, it caused a slow leak, or George would have noticed the flat when he dropped by to take the cars for a spin.”

Lauran’s stable manager maintained their cars and property when they were out of town for extended periods. Since his property backed up to theirs, he was close enough to keep an eye on things 24/7. Not that they expected him to. The security company did that. However, he was extra insurance when they needed it most.

“I guess he would have.” Lauran settled back and adjusted her seat belt, deciding she needed to get the latch checked tomorrow when Jerry came out. It wasn’t catching properly. “Around three, huh? That means we can sleep in and have a late brunch.”

“Sounds like a date.” Trey laughed softly at the thought their brunch would likely consist of leftovers and peach Mimosas in bed. “Now tell me about your latest commission.”

He glanced in Lauran’s direction, silently admiring her moonlit profile as he pulled onto the deserted four-lane highway. They lived far enough out in the sticks that there wasn’t much traffic day or night. He suspected that was why his wife chose this area. It wasn’t likely to be developed any time soon. Too deep in the boonies. While he preferred the city, Lauran wanted a safe place to raise their children with forests and wide-open spaces. He’d reluctantly agreed. A little inconvenience was a small price to pay for the good of his future family.

“What do you want me to say?” Lauran felt his eyes on her before his gaze returned to the road. “It’s Dani.” She’d run into her museum curator friend on the streets of London one day. “She gave me a handful of photographs from her latest exhibit to use as inspiration. They’re Etruscan and Thracian. While I’m glad she’s off the whole Priam’s Treasure kick for the moment, neither of those is her usual over-the-top style.” Her voice trailed off as she caught the look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Probably nothing,” Trey answered honestly, deciding he hadn’t driven the car enough to know whether something was off in the handling or not. “Have you decided what you’re making?”

“Not really.” Lauran laughed softly. “You know Dani can’t make up her mind. She leaves that up to me. Besides, she’ll like anything I create.” Largely because she knew the other woman so well. “I think she likes saying her jewelry is custom LLO more than she cares about the actual design.” While that opinion was overly simplistic, it was true to a point. “I’ll probably do three or four delicate Etruscan pieces in gold and emeralds to layer and throw in a few heavier Thracian pieces to give more substance to the collection. She’ll have the best of both worlds. However, I need to do more research before I decide…”

Lauran’s words died in her throat at the headlights bearing down on them in the rearview mirror. Expecting the vehicle to swiftly change lanes, she was surprised when they were rammed instead. Watching Trey scrabble to halt their manic tailspin, the last thing she remembered was hitting the windshield before she awoke an indeterminable time later, hugging asphalt, snorting blood…

CHAPTER TWO

Charleston, SC

Glancing at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, Lauran realized that, as traumatic as tonight would be, the same event would have excited her just seven short years ago. A lot has changed since then. Namely, she hadn’t yet awakened broken, bleeding, hugging bitumen like a lover.

Shaking her morbid thoughts, she recalled the times she’d stood in this exact spot in the past. Usually, they involved getting ready for a night on the town with Trey. Tonight, they didn’t. He exited her life within weeks of the accident with her blessing. She’d known she was better off without him. If she had any doubts, the torrid affair with her best friend quickly clarified the matter.

Applying another coat of mascara, she abruptly ended her stroll down memory lane. It wasn’t getting her anywhere. It only fed her insecurities, and that wasn’t good for anyone. Turning to grab her crutches, she crossed her bedroom to study her reflection in the full-length mirror critically. She’d done it again, forgotten to eat a few times too often.

While not unusual when immersed in designing a new collection, she was too thin at an inopportune moment. Try her first public appearance since the accident. She couldn’t believe how careless she’d been. The press would have a field day. She’d been strong and dynamic during her last ad campaign. Fierce and beautiful as only a half-naked fantasy warrior queen could be.

Now, she appeared deceptively angular and frail when nothing could be farther from the truth. She was as healthy as she could be, and her weight would snap back to normal in a few weeks. All she needed was a steady diet of Florence’s homemade biscuits and scones, along with a few takeout containers of Miss Abby’s shrimp and grits. She’d be ten pounds up in a couple of months.

Glancing down, she cursed softly. If the weight loss wasn’t bad enough, the trembling of her hands betrayed her terror. Reminding herself that anyone in a similar situation would feel the same didn't help. Neither did the knowledge that most of the people attending the Gala did so out of morbid curiosity, not genuine interest. They wanted to see the mangled monster she’d become. Snorting at the thought, she decided to just deal with it. Human nature wouldn’t change any time soon.

Closing her eyes, Lauran knew that while she saw the frightened woman beneath the carefully cultivated façade, her guests would see the self-possessed, immaculately coiffed businesswoman wearing an expensive black designer gown. One strategically designed to hug her curves and reveal the smooth skin of her arms, neck, and shoulders while hiding the disturbing damage below beneath a long flowing skirt. Leaning forward, she studied her face from various angles. Little had changed there.

Her complexion was the same creamy olive it had always been. Caressing her cheek, she marveled at the satiny texture. That her face appeared as it was before the accident was a testament to her surgeons’ skill. That her artfully arranged hair was now thick enough to hide the scars on her scalp was a blessing. It hadn’t always been that way. It was several painful years before she could finally say, in some respects, she was still the same woman she used to be. In others, not so much.

It was the others she struggled with.

Looking away from the mirror, large expressive eyes drifted to the collar of entwined calla lilies that twinkled against her skin. One of the loveliest pieces she’d created to date, the necklace was composed of naturally colored diamonds and yellow gold. The matching chandelier earrings dangled from her ears, and chunky bracelets glittered at her wrists. Several coordinating rings encircled her fingers. All were birthday gifts from her grandfather, and all were Lancaster heirlooms.

How she wished Henry were alive to see her tonight. To share the honor bestowed upon his father. He wasn’t, so she was standing in his stead, bringing his life’s work to fruition. It was the least she could do for such a wonderful man. His sudden death had left a void in her life, and his work unfinished. She’d gladly fulfilled his plans by picking up where he left off as soon as she was able. Granted, much later than expected, but forgivable under the circumstances. Her grandfather would be pleased with the final act of the tribute he began so many years ago.

The Henry Lancaster: Jeweler to Royalty exhibition was slated to visit thirty-six museums throughout the world over the next three years. She’d been pleasantly surprised by how easy that was to arrange. Once word got out that the collection was up for loan, she’d been inundated with emails, texts, and calls. It had taken months to sift through the offers and make her final decisions. In the end, she knew that her grandfather would be pleased with her itinerary. His dream of sharing his father's remarkable gift with the masses was finally coming to pass. It was a dream he’d worked forty years to achieve.

However, her great-grandfather's most ambitious work was not included. The Drakón of Thráki would remain exactly where it was. Locked safely away in an undisclosed location. Henry Lancaster's most famous work was priceless. Only a fool would expose it to the risks of public viewing. Lauran wasn’t a fool, and she wasn’t willing to tempt fate.

People would do anything to possess the Drakón. Crazy collectors would pay any price to claim the last gift Czarina Alexandra Fedorovna never received. She knew that. While her grandfather employed around-the-clock security at his estate, she refused to take such extreme measures. They weren’t necessary. The Drakón was securely locked inside the hidden safe in her studio vault with her other jewels. It would remain there until it was moved again.

"It's time to go."

Lauran turned to find her assistant standing in the doorway, coat in hand. Complying with Florence’s wishes, she obediently slipped both arms through the sleeves. As much as she didn’t want to make this appearance, she didn’t have a choice. The Gala was honoring her great-grandfather's work and the opening of the Henry Lancaster exhibit at the Charleston Museum. She was the sponsor, so she had to be present.

"I suppose it is.” Lauran agreed. “And I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

"Good.” Florence fussed with her hair for a moment. “You look lovely, and you’ll get through this."

"Yes, I will.” Lauran nodded. “I just hope I don’t forget my speech or fall flat on my face walking across the podium."

She was anxious. The last speech she’d given was during a fashion show in London on her last international trip before the accident. While she’d never been fond of public speaking, she’d always spoken well. Added to the general dislike of the exercise, she was out of practice. Besides, she preferred observing the happenings around her to taking center stage. It was the one facet of her more introverted personality that her outgoing parents never understood.

"You can always take the chair."

"Not happening.” She wouldn’t consider it. “This is my first public appearance since the crash.” A quirked brow was the only response she received. “The media will be out in force. I don't want the world to think I'm in worse shape than I am."

There was no way she was gliding across that stage in a wheelchair. She'd walk on her own, or she wouldn't go. Besides, she hadn’t used anything but her custom elbow crutches since her last surgery. She wasn’t about to change that now. She’d fought too hard to walk again.

“Good girl.” Florence agreed. “I'm here if you need me."

"I know, and I'll be fine.” Lauran patted the hand resting on her shoulder. “It’s just pre-speech jitters. I chose to hide after the accident; now I'm paying for it."

“You didn’t hide.” Florence corrected. “You concentrated on your recovery. No one faults you for that. If you hadn’t withdrawn, you wouldn’t be where you are now.”

Nodding, Lauran knew she was right. She would have lost her fight before it began if she’d accepted her prognosis. If she’d believed she would never walk again. Never see again. Never create again. She hadn’t. She fought back instead. Withdrawing from society was her only option. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by nosy journalists. She couldn’t afford to be undermined by the commiseration of well-meaning friends. She couldn’t afford to lose focus. Instead, she’d relied on the support of her parents, her close friends, and her staff, who ensured her struggles remained private.

“You’re right.” Lauran agreed. “I wouldn’t do anything different.”

Taking her crutches from Florence, she limped slowly towards the door. The show must go on despite her reservations. She would do what was best for her business and her grandfather’s memory at any cost. She would uphold her family name and represent the business she’d built from the ground up. Besides, Lancasters always rose to the occasion. She wouldn’t be the first to let them down. She wouldn’t be the first to fail. Stepping into her garage, Lauran decided not to waste one more moment in dread when she could choose to enjoy herself instead.

###

Watching the sedan pull from the driveway onto the road, the shadow disengaged from the tree line. A lone wraith cloaked in darkness, he studied his surroundings. Nothing moved in or around the large brick house. No lights pierced the night with their incandescent glow. No streetlights betrayed his presence because there weren’t any. One glance at his digital watch revealed it was exactly 8:05 pm. He needed to move quickly. He had a limited window in which to canvass the house from top to bottom.

Lauran and her companion would stay at the museum for at least two hours. Unless, of course, they left early. Knowing Lauran, she'd stay until Florence dragged her away. She wasn’t often in the limelight anymore. Being the center of attention would be an intoxicating experience after all these years. He was counting on that. Then again, he’d be on high alert in case he was wrong.

Deciding all the variables were accounted for to the best of his abilities, it was time to do what had to be done. The yippy dogs were either at George’s or stretched out in their doggy beds in front of the fireplace. If they were, they wouldn’t bother getting up when he appeared. If they barked, no one would hear their annoying yaps anyway. They wouldn’t bother with anything more aggressive. The thought of biting a human never crossed their empty little heads.

One last glance around the perimeter reassured him that all was quiet. The small, nondescript, dark blue import was concealed from the road and the rest of the property by several thick hedges. As for anyone noting the car out of place on the Templeton side, this part of the scraggly patch of wood was blocked from their view by the coach house. Not that anyone was interested in overgrown brush anyway. The so-called forest was just a centuries-old natural property boundary. Nothing more and nothing less. It was also the perfect hiding place for someone up to no good.

Stepping away from his car, he pulled his infrared goggles in place and headed across the field. Fortunately, thanks to the cloudy, moonless night, it was almost too easy walking from the brush, across the open field, past the pool, through the side door, and into the garage. He wouldn't be noted if someone wanted to see him. It was just too dark on a virtually moonless night.

The only excitement on his journey came in the form of a large cottonmouth slithering through the leaves on its journey towards the stream edging the property. While confronting venomous snakes wasn't part of the plan, he’d use his silenced pistol if necessary. Potentially betraying his presence was preferable to snakebite, but it wasn't a choice he wanted to make. Fortunately, the cottonmouth was more interested in juicy frogs than trespassing humans.

Skirting a wide path around the reptile, the intruder unlocked the back door, went inside, and quickly disarmed the security system. So much for outside locks if you have the keys. As for the security system, there were ways around that as well. Having access to the security code was one of them. Stepping into the foyer and the den beyond, he stopped to admire several antique Murano vases before heading for the den.

‘So much for here, the bedrooms are first on the hit list. Let's see, 8:15, roughly an hour and a half to look for the safe.’ Marching down the hall, he opened one door after the other, peering inside before shutting the door.

‘Empty, nothing here. Let's try the other side. This is it. Let's see. It'll only take a second to look behind the pictures. That was way too obvious. The walls. Nothing. The wainscoting fits together perfectly. No mismatched seams or triggers. Same with the wallpaper. No hollow panels. The walls are solid.

The safe isn’t under the floor. The boards fit too perfectly. The bathroom? Nothing here either. None of the tiles are loose. Let's take a quick look at the other bedrooms. There’s nothing in the walk-in closet. Let’s check the guest room. It would be just like Lauran to hide the bloody thing in a guest room in plain sight.’

The intruder searched one room after another, checking walls, looking under rugs for floor safes, and checking closets.

‘Nothing in the closets, the dressers, or the wardrobes. Nothing behind the pictures or the headboard. Nothing in the floors or walls. Where could it be? No loose tiles or bricks anywhere. It isn’t here. It must be here. It isn’t in the shop.’

There was more to this puzzle than met the eye. Lauran was smart enough and wealthy enough to have hiding places built into the mausoleum she called home. She wasn’t just bright enough; she had at least one. She’d slipped up and admitted to a secret safe a lifetime ago. To his way of thinking, where there was one safe, there was more. Maybe even a hidden room that wasn’t on the blueprints. Cursing softly, he decided that either of those things made his job more difficult, but not impossible. He would find that safe or get caught trying.

‘Let me check the time. It’s ten o'clock, time to get a move on. What’s next? The living room. Wonderful. It’s not very bright putting the safe behind that large seascape. Not even difficult to open. Let’s see, stocks, bonds, divorce decree stapled to the marriage license, nice baroque suite in the original box.” Carefully dropping the set in the pouch at his side and returning the empty box, he continued rifling the contents. “I’ll be long gone by the time Lauran opens this box again.”

She didn’t have any use for the elaborate jewels. Not anymore. It wasn’t like she was going to limp around an empty house wearing four-hundred-year-old gems. She was physically damaged, not mentally deficient. Not yet anyway.

“Let's see, the den is next. Nice trophies and ribbons. It would be just like Lauran to have the thing on display with her equestrian awards. Okay, that theory is busted. She probably has a safe in the library. But where? Behind the books? Crap, that’s a car engine. Stay calm, there's plenty of time to get out of here.’

Taking a quick look around, he decided everything looked good. He’d been slow and methodical, making sure everything was restored as it was before his visit. The longer it took Lauran to realize her home was breached, the more times he could return and the quicker he’d find the elusive safe. Rearming the security system, he silently slipped out the back door into the night.

CHAPTER THREE

"I'm sorry, Florence.” Lauran apologized as she stared up at the other woman. “I hoped we could stay for the whole affair."

Taking her hand, Florence pulled Lauran to her feet before grabbing her crutches from the back seat.

"Don’t apologize to me.” She’d had enough, too. “I'm sorry we had to leave because you were enjoying yourself."

Slipping her arms through her crutches, Lauran headed for the door.

"You were, too." It didn’t hurt that her assistant’s fiancé was on the guest list.

"Yes, I was, but you're more important.” Florence unlocked the door. “I can see George any time. You’re my patient.” While her official title may have changed over the years, they both knew her job description hadn’t. “You had no business standing on your feet that long, not when your leg was bothering you. Don’t look at me that way. I knew the moment it started. I was about to suggest we leave if you didn’t." She would have demanded they leave if Lauran proved obstinate. "Besides, that reporter was getting on my last nerve. I was ready to deck him."

"You and me both. He was such a jerk. I thought he'd never stop asking personal questions.” Lauran was perilously close to getting wound up again. “The Gala was honoring Henry Lancaster’s work. It had nothing to do with my personal life. Nothing to do with my marriage, divorce, or the accident." The little creep had persisted in dredging up things best forgotten years ago. Lauran had finally rudely snubbed him to answer a few more relevant questions from her audience. "It seems I can never get away from people like that."

"What do you expect? You're a successful businesswoman from an internationally prominent family. You started LLO, married a successful architect, got injured in a freak car crash, then disappeared at the peak of your celebrity without another word.” If Florence sounded like a book blurb, she didn’t blame her. She had three best-selling medical thrillers under her belt. “People don't forget dramas like that. All the public has known for years is that you’re still alive and working. You and I both know this appearance is going to give LLO a boost it doesn't need."

She’d have more custom orders than she could handle. She already did. That’s why she had Kevin and Samantha, two incredibly talented jewelsmiths, working for her. She was fortunate that neither of them had any interest in going out on their own. They’d both tried and realized they weren’t cut out for the business side of things.

"You're probably right."

All in all, Lauran decided her first official outing wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d anticipated. The demons lurking in the recesses of her mind were far worse than reality had been. She'd made it through the evening without embarrassing herself. She hadn't stumbled or fallen once while walking to the podium. She hadn't stuttered. She hadn’t forgotten her speech. Everyone was wonderful except one jackass reporter.

"I am right." Florence shook her head.

"Hey, what's that glittering beside the stairs?" Lauran lifted a hand to her right ear, then to her left, reassuring herself that both earrings were still in place. “Did we lose a piece of jewelry?”

Florence walked across the concrete floor towards the steps. Leaning over, she scooped the earring off the floor and held it up. Lauran immediately recognized the dangling golden dolphins crowned at head and tail with precious gems.

"It's one of the Wrexham earrings.” She didn’t believe her eyes. “The last time I saw this, we were locking the suite in the living room safe."

Lauran took the earring from Florence and held it up. Three inches long, it was hard to miss. Watching the light play across the surface of the huge drop-shaped natural pearl and glisten off the rose-cut diamonds, Lauran remembered opening the marquetry jewelry box on her eighteenth birthday with anticipation. She’d been delighted by what she found inside. Gaudily ornate, the Baroque pieces were well suited to her dramatic coloring and tastes. Of all her grandfather's gifts, she’d treasured the Wrexham Suite the most, excluding the Drakón.

Made in the early 17th century for Anne of Denmark, wife of King James I, Lauran’s grandfather had bought the set at an estate sale long ago. No one knew how the jewels found their way into the Countess of Wrexham's private collection, but they had. Henry Lancaster hadn't cared whether they were given to, or stolen by, one of the countess’ ancestors. He'd wanted the jewels, so he'd bought them. Thirty years later, he'd given the set to his only grandchild. Five years ago, she’d fashioned three dolphin bracelets to complete the set. She’d only worn the jewels twice in the years she’d owned them.

"You didn’t drop anything,” Florence said what they both knew. “You haven't had the set out recently, have you?"

"No, I haven't.” Lauran agreed. “I haven't even opened that safe since we inventoried my jewelry.” She needed to increase her theft coverage. “The set hasn't been outside the house since that big masquerade we threw for the hospital’s trauma unit years ago."

The last time she wore the Wrexham Suite, her assistant wasn’t in her life. Instead, she’d been at the top of her game and growing in social influence. As one of the sponsors of the masquerade and the charity’s largest donor, she had worn an elaborate, historically accurate gown reminiscent of the period when her jewels were created. As much as she hated saying it, she’d had the time of her life.

Trey was out of town for work at the time, so she’d attended the ball solo with several friends. They’d chatted, flirted, and innocently danced the night away before returning to their homes and their ordinary lives. Thinking back, Lauran realized she’d had more fun alone than she would have had with her husband at her side. As clear as it was now, she wouldn’t have realized that back then. Shaking her thoughts, she turned back to the problem at hand.

"Then how did that?” Florence’s voice pulled her back to the present as she nodded in the direction of the earring. “Get out here?”

"I don't know.” Lauran didn’t like the feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Let's go inside and find out."

“I don’t think so.” Florence put a restraining hand on her arm. “Let’s stay out here and call the police instead.”

Lauran wanted to argue, but Florence was right. Looking for trouble wasn’t smart, even if the guilty party was probably long gone. While likely, they didn’t know for sure. As much as part of her wanted to go action flick heroine, this was real life. Not some cheesy young adult fantasy filled with armed vigilante chicks. Dialing 911, she watched Florence pull her pistol from her purse. Considering there were several exits from the house, she shouldn’t have to put her military training to use. Then again, she might.

Pacing the garage, Lauran decided her expectations were on the mark when two police cars pulled into the drive fifteen minutes after her call. Laughing softly, she decided it must be that rare, slow night at the station to warrant two cars, or maybe the officers just wanted to get a look at her house. Or, more likely, at her. She knew what was said about her.

Settling in her car seat to wait out the investigation, Lauran closed her eyes and forced herself to remain calm. While she doubted this was a random B&E, she wasn’t ready to share her suspicions with the police just yet. Not until she knew her theory had teeth. She was assuming a lot without any proof.

Her house was a prime target for thieves. She knew that. However, it was strange that her security system hadn’t activated even though it was on when she left. Unless it hadn’t been for a brief period, and that was possible, too. Her only question? How that happened. Not in a good way. As it was, she would have entered her home unaware that anything was wrong if they hadn’t found that earring.

Turning to glance at her companion, Lauran laughed at her occasional huff that the investigation was taking much too long. Eventually, a rather nondescript, blonde-haired Sergeant Perkins took her statement and talked with Florence. He asked her to show him where the jewels were kept. Finally entering her home, Lauran revealed the hidden safe and watched the forensic technician remove the contents. She confirmed nothing had been taken but the jewelry suite. As she watched the tech dust for fingerprints, she knew by her face that she wasn’t finding anything. Nor did they expect to. If her thief was smart enough to leave the empty jewelry box, he would be smart enough not to leave forensics behind.

She wasn't surprised to learn the only fingerprints they'd found likely belonged to her or Florence. Nor was she surprised to learn that any footprints or tire tracks had long since been compromised by the pouring rain. Everyone was polite and thorough, though not encouraging without any viable leads. Lauran knew she was lucky they had wasted as much time as they had in the search for evidence that wasn’t there.

"You'll receive a copy of my report for the insurance company in a couple of days."

"Thanks."

"I'm sorry we can't do more.” Sergeant Perkins stopped in the doorway for a moment. “I'll let you know if there are any new developments."

"Thanks, I'd appreciate that."

"Look, Ms. Lancaster, we’ll send a squad car out here occasionally on patrol. I know it isn't much, but it's the best we can do." It didn't seem necessary to comment. "I'm sorry this happened, especially since I don’t think we’ll recover your jewelry."

It would be long gone on the black market by the time they caught anyone. If they caught anyone. They both knew that wasn’t likely to happen.

"I know, Sergeant.” She was already mourning the loss of her grandfather’s gift. “I do appreciate everything you’ve done."

Lauran watched the officers get into their cars and pull out of the drive before walking back inside and locking the door behind her. She understood their hands were tied. But understanding the way things were and liking it were two different things. As much as she’d like to go to bed, Florence was pacing the floor, waiting for a full report. Her attitude was the same as hers. Though it was not their fault, the police were less than useless in situations like this.

###

As time passed, the police cars left and the lights blinked out, enveloping the house in darkness except for Lauran's bedroom at the back of the house. Outside, an owl hooted, and a fuzzy black bat chased a moth. Inside the small, nondescript car, the man tossed the infrared mask aside and breathed a sigh of relief. Things had almost gone disastrously wrong. Lauran had found the earring he didn’t know he’d dropped and called the police. While he’d never planned on leaving until the lights went out in the house, staying almost assured that he was caught.

Fortunately, two things happened in his favor: the police decided he was long gone, and the heavens opened. The deluge meant no one was eager to fan out over the property in the pitch-black rain. Lifting the gym bag from the floorboard, he opened it to pull out a top and a wig. In a matter of moments, the heavy black sweater was shucked for one of soft pink cashmere, and a short, curly blond wig was expertly pulled over dark hair.

It wasn't the first time he'd used this disguise. He'd even passed Lauran driving home from work. She hadn't batted an eyelash. She'd just waved as they passed in the night. There was no way she could miss Alicia's trademark platinum curls driving by. Anyone noticing the car tonight would think it was the promiscuous Templeton heiress driving a rental car home from a tryst with her married lover, just as Lauran believed that night.

Stupid tramp. Didn't she realize everyone knew about the affair? Even his wife. You couldn't keep secrets in a place like this. Not with the country club crowd. They thrived on salacious gossip. With one last pat to blonde curls, the thief started the engine and shifted into drive. As the car glided down the road, he thought nothing of the tracks being left behind. Since it was still raining, any signs of his visit would be washed away or severely compromised. Despite his scare, all was well, and he knew it.

So confident was the intruder in his scheme, he failed to notice Alicia Templeton returning home from the opposite direction. He also failed to notice the other car pulling into Lauran's driveway and turning around. As far as he was concerned, he'd made a clean getaway. Unless he was stopped by the police, no one would ever know he’d been here. He wasn’t worried about that. Officers rarely patrolled this deserted stretch of road after dark. It wasn't worth it. The most mischief they'd find was a raccoon overturning a trash can or two.

As for Alicia Templeton, she had an incurable nosey streak, especially when something might affect her. She didn't recognize that car pulling out of the patch of trees between the properties. Who was it? Why was he on Lauran's land? Why was he hanging around so close to the property line? Why were they impersonating her? What the hell was going on? The cigarette in Alicia's hand suddenly snapped in two.

That sneaky witch! Mary Alice had sent a detective to spy on her! That was the only possible explanation for such bizarre behavior! Well, she'd fix that! She'd let the little weasel know she was on to him! That ought to put a crimp in her plans! Alicia Templeton wasn't about to see her good name dragged through the mud by a vindictive wife! Besides, she didn’t want to keep the wayward husband. She just wanted to borrow him for a while.

As for now, she certainly wasn't recognizable driving Catherine's old Bronco, with her platinum curls safely hidden under a dark scarf. That was a good thing. She could follow the sneaky little bastard trailing her at a safe enough distance not to arouse his suspicions. When he returned to wherever he was going, she'd confront him. Get the dirt he had on her one way or another! Even if she had to smack him upside the head to get it!

That was exactly what she would do. If she got in trouble, she'd just use Catherine’s cell to summon help. If the darned thing worked when it didn't half the time. Out-of-range or some such nonsense. No matter, there was always the heavy tire iron resting on the car seat beside her. Oh, yes, she could handle any problems that arose. He, on the other hand, might not.

Toxic Illusions